


i thought i said i wasn't good at this

by calumshoods



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - College, M/M, artist!Ashton, fratboy!calum, theres some cursing in there so beware, this is cliche let me live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calumshoods/pseuds/calumshoods
Summary: Calum’s stomach drops when he realizes. The dropped books, the cute guy, the distraction of the sketch. That guy, whoever he was, had to have the notebook. A running list of Calum's most personal thoughts from the past two years. Calum stares at the wall in disbelief, trying to plan his course of action. How was he supposed to get something back from a guy whose name he didn’t even know?or calum is the seemingly douchey fraternity president and starving artist ashton happens upon his notebook full of lyrics





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from knuckles by moose blood
> 
> this is my first time writing slash for the boys that i actually thought was worth posting so please be gentle on me thank u

The Sigma Nu house perched itself in the middle of Greek Row, making it the center of all activity on the school’s campus. The white Greek letters ΣΝ pronounced their dominance in stark contrast to the house’s dark, navy blue paint. The lawn was surprisingly well kept considering the frat party stragglers that often found themselves emptying their stomach contents on the fresh, green grass every weekend. A few members of the fraternity lingered outside, chatting between classes. Inside, tucked away in the attic, the faint strum of a guitar echoes between the rafters. With an audience of cob webs and spiders, Calum Hood, fraternity president, jots down a few lines in a tattered notebook, then returns to playing his guitar.

Calum notices the time on his watch in the corner of his eye and scrambles to put his guitar back in the case and tuck it behind a battered couch. He stuffs the well loved notebook into his backpack and opens the staircase down from the hidden attic. He checks the hallways for any of his brothers and quickly jumps down when he thinks the coast is clear.

“Yo, Cal, what were you doing up there?” he hears someone call from down the hall. Calum does his best to act casual and brushes the dust off his black jeans.

He turns and sees his brother and vice president of membership for Sig Nu, Luke, watching him with raised eyebrows. Calum lets out a sigh of relief, thankful that Luke caught him coming down from his secret hiding spot and not one of the other members of the frat. Calum walks towards Luke and punches him in the shoulder for scaring him. “Screw you, dude,” Calum laughs. He continues down the hall and down the stairs as Luke retreats back into his room, laughing.

Luke was the only one of Calum’s brothers, actually, the only other person in the world, who knew about Calum’s music. The two had been freshman roommates and bonded quickly. They were already practically brothers when they were initiated into Sigma Nu their freshman year. The fraternity just made their bond official. While Luke knew that Calum frequently hid himself away in the frat house’s attic to play guitar and write music, he would have to pry the tattered notebook from Calum’s cold, dead hands before he ever showed him something he wrote. As the president of the top tier fraternity, he had a reputation to uphold, and his songs about feeling invisible and lost were not going to boost his popularity among the guys.

Calum comes down the stairs and a brother, distracted by his phone, walks directly into him. “Whoa, dude,” Calum says, holding his hands up in front of him. The sophomore mumbles an apology and continues on his way. Calum makes his way to the door and snickers at the freshman pledges who are busy cleaning the living room. He loved the power that came with being the president — the way that all the underclassman were scared of him, the way that every single person he passed on campus on his way to class stared at him, the way every girl, and a lot of guys, looked at him with lust. He was the hottest commodity on campus, and when he wasn’t tucked away in the corner of the Sigma Nu attic, he played the role.

He pushes his way into tall brick building that housed his Sports Law and Contracts class. He was rounding out his requirements for his sports management major this fall so that his spring schedule, his last semester of college, would be full of free time to party. He makes his way past a tour group and a pack of freshman girls who are excitedly talking about their weekend plans just in time to collide with a disheveled blonde who was coming around the corner.

Calum’s books fly out of his backpack that he didn’t realize was unzipped and scatter across the tile floor. The other guy had a stack of books in his hands which are now thrown in with Calum’s all over the ground. “What the fuck, dude?” Calum growls as he begins picking up his books.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” the other guy answers. He begins picked up his own books, as well.

Calum notices one of the books is flipped open displaying a charcoal sketch of a guy Calum had seen around campus before. Michael, he thinks his name was. It was incredible — a spot on depiction of his messy hair and tired eyes. “This is amazing…” Calum trails off, picking up the sketchbook and inspecting the drawing even closer.

“Oh, thanks…” the blonde responds as he picks up the last of his books on the ground. “Just something I threw together the other day,” he says softly as a blush rises on his face.

Calum stares at the book for another second before realizing what he was doing. He slams the sketchbook shut and practically hurls it at the other guys face. “Watch where you’re going next time,” Calum barks before running off to his class. He couldn’t afford to be late.

For the hour and a half long class period, Calum’s mind drifts. He thinks about the song he was working on earlier and comes up with a few lines that he makes a mental note to write down the second he gets back to his room. Mostly, though, his mind drifts to the guy he ran into earlier. His dark blonde hair that stuck up in a million different directions. The way his glasses framed his soft green eyes. The smudges of red and blue paint that ran up his tan arms. Calum shakes the thoughts from his head just as his professor beckons “Exam next Friday, you’re free to go. Enjoy your weekend,” into the lecture hall. Calum quickly stuffs his laptop into his backpack and rushes out of the class. He wants to get back to his room at the frat house before he forgets the lyrics he had dreamed up during the lecture.

As soon as Calum has made his way back to his room, he tosses his bag on his desk chair. His room in the Sigma Nu house was the biggest, and rightfully so. It was on the top floor of the three story house, just next to the entrance into the attic. He had left the room fairly plain, not feeling like channeling the interior decorator within himself. A queen sized bed sat in the corner, unmade and with dirty sheets that Calum should probably give to a pledge to wash. A desk sat near the window, covered in syllabuses and flyers about fraternity events that his brothers had scattered about campus during the first few weeks of the semester.

Calum opens his backpack and begins to rifle through in search of his notebook. The pages of the notebook were filled to the brim with lyrics, Calum’s deepest thoughts and writings, and was his most important possession. Calum flips through the books in his bag again after missing the notebook on the first go about. He still can’t find it, and begins to panic. He knew he threw it in the bag before he left the house before class, so where could it have disappeared to?

Calum’s stomach drops when he realizes. The dropped books, the cute guy, the distraction of the sketch. That guy, whoever he was, had to have the notebook. A running list of Calum's most personal thoughts from the past two years. Calum stares at the wall in disbelief, trying to plan his course of action. How was he supposed to get something back from a guy whose name he didn’t even know?

 

+++

There were so many people in the Sigma Nu house that they spilled out into the backyard, the basement, and a handful made it to the roof. The music blared from a speaker system that rivaled that of the live concert. The entire house shook under the thump of the bass and people were lucky if they could hear their own thoughts.

Calum sucks back his sixth, maybe seventh, beer in the past hour before pushing his way back to the keg for a refill. Drowning his fears in alcohol was one thing that Calum knew how to do well. He had made little progress in search of the notebook since he returned from class at 3PM to find it missing. With Luke as his only confidant, the two were able to narrow down that the guy was definitely not in Greek life and was probably an art major. The mysterious Michael, who was Calum’s only lead on the mystery man, was an isolated loner that basically no one knew, and unless Calum managed to run into him on campus in some lucky twist of fate, there was no reaching him.

Calum fills his cup with beer and returns to the corner of the living room to sulk. Everything rushes around him, people dancing to the beat of the music, couples hooking up in the corners, friends yelling over the sound in hopes of getting a word in. Despite all of the commotion around him, Calum’s world stands completely still when the front door open and a familiar face walks through the door.

He pushes his way through the hoards of people, hoping to meet up with the blonde who looks entirely overwhelmed by the scene in front of him. “Where is it?” Calum yells, pushing the blondes shoulder back when he met up with him in a less crowded area of the room. Calum stumbles back slightly, his own movements too quick for his drunken body to handle. The boy holds up the familiar notebook defensively. Calum snatches it from his hand. “Did you read it?” he snaps. Pale green eyes pierce into him, scared to respond.

“Um…” the soft voice trails off, almost completely masked by the music. Calum instantly feels bad. The poor guy looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

“Come with me,” Calum says, his expression softening to show the guy he means no harm. Calum climbs the stairs, hoping no one sees him retreating to the top floor with a random guy. They make it up to Calum’s room with only a few people seeing them, mostly girls waiting to use one of the bathrooms.

Calum unlocks the door to his room and lets himself and the mystery guy in before slamming it closed and locking it behind them. “So, did you read it?” Calum asks again as he drops the notebook onto his desk. He flops back on his bed. It’s much quieter up here, he thinks. The dull thump of the bass still shakes the room lightly, but in a more soothing way than annoying.

“Yeah…poetry?” he asks quietly, looking down at his feet.

Calum smirks. “Song lyrics,” he tells him. “You can sit if you want, um, sorry, what’s your name?” He blushes.

“Ashton,” he tells him as he bounds across the room to the desk chair. He pulls it out and turns it towards the bed before taking a seat.

“Ashton…” Calum echoes quietly. He snaps back to the situation at hand. “If you tell anyone about this, I swear to God, I’ll ruin your life,” he threatens.  
A laugh bubbles up in Ashton and comes out as a high pitched giggle. He actually giggles. “Ruin my life? What a threat.”

Calum laughs back after a moment. Ashton’s right, what kind of threat was that? What was Cal going to do, tell his frat brothers that they need to ruin this artist guys life because he stole what was essentially Calum’s diary? “Alright, you got me there.”

“It’s really good,” Ashton says after a minute of silence. “Your lyrics, I mean. They’re so real, so…raw,” he stammers. Calum blushes again. He couldn’t help himself. Between the alcohol that ran through him and Ashton’s eyes on him, he felt weak. No one had read his work before and he was always getting down on himself about it. He never thought it would actually be good enough for anyone else to look at, let alone a complete stranger.

“Thanks,” Calum manages. “I’ve never actually showed it to anyone.”

“Oh, wow,” Ashton mumbles. “You know, you’re not how you seem. All douche-y and everything.” Ashton lets out an awkward laugh when Calum doesn’t answer right away.

Calum is at a loss for words, so he changes the subject. “Why did you come here tonight? How did you know to come here?” Calum questions.

Ashton sighs. “You’re Calum Hood, obviously I know who the Sigma Nu president is and where he lives. I didn’t realize I had your notebook until like an hour or two ago, and then I got curious and got to reading it…” he laughs awkwardly, “and then I realized you were probably searching for it like a madman, so I figured I would swing by and drop it off.” Ashton shrugs.

“On a Friday night when there’s most likely a party going on?” Calum wonders out loud, curious as to why Ashton wouldn’t just wait until the morning.

“Alright, well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to run into you, either,” Ashton confesses. A small laugh rings from his lips, bright and clear. It makes Calum’s heart sing.

“Yeah, understandable,” Calum agrees. “But aren’t you so glad you did?” Calum wiggles his eyebrows at Ashton, a poor attempt at flirting.

Ashton nods. “You’re not too bad,” he answers, flirting right back. “I, um, I actually have to get going. Supposed to meet up with a friend to work on a project we’ve been doing.”

Calum’s face falls, disappointed that his time with Ashton is getting cut so short. “Yeah, alright,” he mutters despite his efforts to hide the dissatisfaction in his voice.

Ashton gets up from the chair and is about to let himself out of the room when he turns back and looks at Calum. “You know, if you ever want someone to look at your music, or listen to you play or anything, I can do that for you.”

Calum smiles from his bed and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his phone and tosses it in Ashton’s direction. He catches it effortlessly and punches his number in before tossing it back at Calum.

“Thanks, Ashton. For the notebook and for, um, telling me that I’m, um, my stuff is—” Calum stumbles, trying to find the right words to thank his new friend.

“Yeah, Calum, no problem at all. See you around,” he responds before slipping out the door and shutting it quietly behind him. Calum falls back into his bed for a moment and lets out a long, deep sigh. He lies there for a moment before he is suddenly on his feet, grabbing his notebook from the desk and rushing towards the entrance to the attic. When inspiration strikes him, it strikes him hard.

 

+++

Monday morning rolls around and Calum is convinced he’s still hungover from Saturday night. He had one too many and spent a majority of the night and almost all of Sunday clearing his stomach into the toilet. He slides on a pair of sunglasses on his way out to class to combat the blinding midday sun. One of his brothers catches up with him and they walk down Greek Row together.

Ashton comes into Calum’s view when they enter the main academic building on campus, and Calum hopes that his sunglasses do enough to disguise him. The last thing he need was cheerful, happy-go-lucky Ashton running up to him and his frat brother and exposing all his secrets.

Calum’s prayers go unanswered as Ashton waves at Calum across the wide expanse of the building’s lobby. He tries to play it off like Ashton’s wave is directed to someone else, but the “Hey Calum!” that accompanies his frantic arm movement exposes him.

“Who the fuck is that?” the brother by his side snorts.

“No one,” Calum sighs. He puts his head down and ignores Ashton. He rushes off to class before Ashton gets the opportunity to run over to him and strike up a conversation. Calum peaks up out of the corner of his eye as he steps into the elevators and watches a crestfallen Ashton run a hand through his long hair and slowly walk off in the other direction.

 

+++

Calum spends the entire afternoon locked away in the attic, working on a melody for the lyrics he vigorously wrote on Friday night after Ashton left. He attempts, at least. He continuously scrapped whatever progress he made. His mind travels back to the morning and the desperately sad look on Ashton’s face. He mindlessly picks up his phone and composes a text to him. **I’m sorry.**

He sets his phone down and strums his guitar aimlessly, hoping for something to come to him. Instead, he receives the ping of a message back from Ashton. **Don’t worry about it. You’re Calum Hood. I should have known.** Calum’s stomach drops, his hands get sweaty, he feels like he could pass out.

He clicks the call icon on Ashton’s contact. “I’m Calum Hood? What’s that supposed to mean? I mean, I know what that’s supposed to mean, but I thought you understood?” Calum speaks before Ashton even greets him upon answering the phone.

Ashton sighs on the other side of the line. “Calum…” he trails off. “I just meant…You have a reputation. You’re Calum Hood, Sigma Nu president. I just should have known that this would have never worked.”

Calum sets his guitar back down in it’s case and folds his legs under him. He looks around the attic — the low ceiling, the darkness illuminated by a single window on the wall furthest from him, the dust covered furniture that once resided throughout the house — while he looks for the right words. “I get that, Ashton, I do. I’m the Sigma Nu president, whatever. But that’s who everyone else sees me as, and they see me as just that. I never said I was going to be good at this—this dual life I have to leave. But I thought that you—I thought that by reading my lyrics—I thought you could maybe see past that—that facade.”

The silence between them is deafening. The sound of their breathing is the only noise filtering through the phone. “Got anything new to show me?” Ashton asks softly after a few minutes.

Calum smiles and picks up his guitar. “Can I play it for you?” he questions, knowing full well that Ashton would not say no.

Calum doesn’t wait for the answer. He sets his phone down and puts it on speaker before strumming out the beginning of the new song he was having such a hard time writing before. He sings the lyrics almost silently, unsure of how his own voice would translate into Ashton’s ears. He plays the guitar confidently, though, like the melody he had been working on was the first he ever learned to play. He trails off as he reaches the chorus, the part he was struggle with so badly before, and lets the sound of the guitar fade out. “That’s all I got. Not that great,” Calum whispers, his voice still adjusting back from his quiet singing to his normal volume. It was the first time he had ever performed for anyone, and even though it was just over the phone, Calum felt exposed.

He can practically feel Ashton smiling on the other side. “Calum…that was incredible,” he says, radiating warmth and praise in his tone. “Sing louder next time, you have a beautiful voice.” Calum blesses the buffer the phone is providing. He’s thankful Ashton isn’t there to see his bright red cheeks and the smile that is reaching his eyes.

 

+++

**Can I draw you?** Calum receives the text from Ashton late Friday afternoon. The two had been texting back and forth all week and talked on the phone on a daily basis. Their friendship, relationship, whatever it was, was almost strictly digital, though. Calum nodded a greeting when he saw Ashton on Wednesday between classes and Ashton gave him a small wave when they bumped into each other in the campus coffee shop, but they were very private. Calum barely even mentioned Ashton to Luke, who knew basically everything about Calum.

 **When? And where?** Calum answers Ashton as he exits his lecture. He just aced an exam and he could use some time with Ashton to celebrate.

Ashton texts back just as Calum walks through the door of the frat house. **Around 6? My place? I’ll cook dinner.**

Calum smiles at his phone and answers to confirm. Ashton replies with his address, an off campus apartment building that Calum had visited before. Calum retreats to his hiding space and thoughtlessly strums to occupying his time.

The two hours between his return from class and his walk to Ashton’s feel like an eternity. He tells Luke where he’s going so he can cover for him — “Tell the other brothers I went home or I’m on a date or something, if they ask,” he begs before he departs. Luke agrees on the basis that Calum does his laundry for a month when the pledges are through with hazing. Calum reluctantly shakes on it.

Calum knocks lightly on the door of Ashton’s second floor apartment. Ashton opens the door wearing a plain, pale grey t-shirt and sweatpants. Calum can’t help but wish that the sweatpants were also grey. Ashton steps aside to let the dark haired boy into the apartment. It’s pretty spacious — Calum assumes it looks even more so because there’s hardly any furniture. The scent of pasta sauce engulfs Calum’s senses when he nears the kitchen.

“I hope spaghetti is okay?” Ashton asks shyly. “It’s, like, the only thing I can cook.”

Calum nods. “That’s one more thing than I can cook,” he jokes. He makes himself at home, plopping down on the couch, the only seating in the room other than the two folding chairs at the makeshift dining table.

Ashton carries two heaping piles of spaghetti and a basket of garlic bread over to the couch. He sets it all down on the coffee table and the boys dig in. “Garlic bread is an interesting choice,” Calum remarks, not filtering what he’s saying.

Ashton looks at him, his brows furrowed and forehead puckered. “Why’s that?” he asks in confusion. Calum can’t tell if it’s genuine or if he’s mocking him.

Calum smirks and shrugs. “No reason,” he answers. He stuffs a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth before Ashton can ask a follow up question.

They eat quickly and quietly. They’re both eager for Ashton to draw Calum, though neither of them vocalize their excitement. Calum helps Ashton clean up the plates when they’re done. Ashton points out the bathroom when Calum asks, and then points out the makeshift art studio that was converted from a bedroom. Calum splashes cold water on his face in the bathroom and dries off with a hand towel that hangs off the door. It smells exactly how Calum suspects Ashton smelled — clean, but with underlying notes of musk and sweat.

Ashton is poised on a folding chair when Calum walks into the room. He has a sketchbook on his lap and there’s a bundle of compressed charcoal sticks on the table beside him. There’s a chair opposite him, and Calum takes a seat in it.

“Um, this is probably weird to ask but, um, do you mind taking your shirt off?” Ashton blushes as he asks the question. He avoids eye contact at all costs.

Calum smirks. It’s endearing. “Yeah, no problem.” Calum pulls his t-shirt over his head and lets it fall to the floor.

Ashton looks back at him and his eyes linger on the tattoos on Calum’s collarbones and arms. “Those are nice,” Ashton says, his voice almost a whisper, while he nods his chin at Calum’s tattoos. Calum smiles. Ashton looks down at his sketchpad and gets to work.

The pair makes small talk while Ashton works, but Ashton’s dialogue falls off as he gets lost in his art. Hours pass but it doesn’t feel like they do. It feels like they are trapped in time together, isolated from the outside world, just Calum and Ashton, Ashton and Calum.

“Okay, done,” Ashton whispers to himself. Calum stands up from his seat and walks behind Ashton to look at the image of his shoulder He takes in a short gasp.

“Ashton…” he loses all the words that he once knew. Silence once again falls between them

“Now you know how I feel when you play music for me,” Ashton laughs gently. He sets the sketchpad down on the table next to him and stands up, turning to face Calum.

They are eye to eye — Calum’s deep brown eyes to Ashton’s pale green ones. They stare directly into each other and study each other’s faces at the same time. Before either can comprehend what they’re doing, their lips are crashing together, soft and warm and welcoming. Calum’s hands get lost in Ashton’s hair. Ashton trails his hands down Calum’s bare sides. Goosebumps arise on every inch of both of their bodies. The electricity between the pair is undeniable.

Their lips break apart only because of their desperate need for air. Both boys pant quietly, their bodies and arms still intertwined. “Your art is amazing,” Calum whispers, his face still just mere inches from Ashton’s.

“Yours is, too,” Ashton replies. And for the first time ever, Calum believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> um hi yeah i hope that wasn't too bad you can come yell at me on [tumblr](http://cashtonjpg.tumblr.com) if it was awful thanks


End file.
